Quidditch Therapy
by PadfootsMoony
Summary: Six Quidditch players from Hogwarts will soon learn that there are more sports, Magical and Muggle, than just Quidditch. Chaos, boy gropage, and a little Germanspeaking Russian therapist.
1. Unhealthy Obsession

**Title:** Quidditch Therapy

**Author:** PadfootsMoony

**Disclaimer:** I solemnly swear that I own nothing. Well... except for the German-speaking Russian therapist. He belongs to me.

**Author's Notes:** Beware! Total chaos in a randomish organized sort of way. This will take place during Harry's third year meaning it's Oliver Wood's seventh year, Cedric Diggory's sixth year, and Marcus Flint's eighth year. Oh, and by the way... **--Slash--** If you do not like the idea of two men groping and kissing and snogging and shagging and all that good stuff with each other, **then press that useful little back button**. Right... so now are the homophobes gone? Excellent.

**Quidditch Therapy**

**Chapter One-- **Unhealthy Obsession

_Dear Mr. Marcus Flint,_

_I hope you have enjoyed your first couple of weeks of school. It flatters me that you have decided to return for an extra year, but I am afraid that despite your determination to continue your education, I simply must beg of you to do whatever it takes in your power to have this be your final year at Hogwarts. With that said, many professors (I will not release any names for the sake of their safety) have told me that you appear to be somewhat distracted from your studies. I am sure that it will not come as a surprise to you when I say that Quidditch seems to be the cause of this certain distraction. I would not exactly call it a distraction myself, but more of an unhealthy obsession if you will. The professors have offered suggestions such as suspending you from the sport, but I find that to be quite unfair seeing that you are not the only one who has this Quidditch obsession problem. Therefore I have come up with a solution known as Quidditch Therapy. You, along with several others, will undergo six weeks of intense therapy, which will hopefully calm (not rid of) this obsession. If you so idiotically choose not to participate in the therapy program, I will personally see to it that you serve ten detentions for each of your professors and suspend you from Quidditch. With that in mind, Mr. Flint, the first meeting will take place tonight in the Quidditch pitch at 8. Do not be late. _

_Yours Sincerely,  
Albus Dumbledore_

Marcus glared at the letter, which had been delivered to him by a terrified second year Hufflepuff, with furious dark eyes. He could not believe what he had just read (believe it or not, but the Slytherin has a spectacular ability to read small words and such). What on Merlin's Beard had that old bloke been smoking to come up with something as ridiculous as 'Quidditch Therapy'? Surely this was all a joke.

"Oi! Flint!"

Marcus looked up from the letter and hastily crumpled it into a pathetic ball as he saw Oliver Wood walk towards him at the Slytherin table. What a bloody idiot, he thought pleasantly to himself and smirked when the Gryffindor stopped in front of him, holding what appeared to be a piece of parchment.

"Surprise to see you on this side of the Great Hall, Wood. Never thought you had the guts."

"Shut it," Oliver snapped but almost immediately took a step back as he received threatening glances from the Slytherins sitting around Marcus. He frowned, puffed his chest up bravely, and glowered at the Quidditch captain across from him. The table stood proudly between the two, so Oliver was _somewhat _safe. "I just wanted to see if you got a letter from Dumbledore about... ." Oliver trailed off into silence, and Marcus realized that he was too embarrassed to mention the Quidditch Therapy.

"About _what_, Wood? I don't have all day," said Marcus indifferently.

"Did you or did you _not _get a letter? Just answer me, Flint."

Marcus sighed and rolled his eyes before throwing the crumpled letter at Oliver's head. It bounced marvelously off the Keeper's nose and landed by his feet. Oliver looked down at it with a scowl but did not bother to pick it up.

"Are you going to the meeting?" he asked as his eyes found their way back up to Marcus's face.

"I don't exactly have a _choice_, Wood. It's either that or detentions and suspension from Quidditch, and I know how much you'd love that-"

"You'd be doing the whole school a favor," Oliver retorted with a mocking grin.

"I think I'll do myself a favor and make sure you don't live to play another match." Marcus smirked, revealing his crooked teeth, when Oliver's grin faltered and fell into a frown.

"See you tonight then," he said as he bent over, picked up the crumpled letter, and chucked it at the Slytherin's face.

Marcus caught it without blinking or removing his smirk. "It's a date."

And without another word, Oliver turned and stormed off.

Marcus stepped out onto the grounds around 7:30 that night, and took in a deep breath of fresh air. He never told anyone, but he loved the night. The darkness was what he loved the most. It was eerie and silent and peaceful, and it brought Marcus a feeling of calmness. It wassomething he could not exactly explain. Not even to himself.

A cool breeze gracefully danced across the grounds, and Marcus shuddered silently, wrapping his robes around him tightly to stay warm. Dumbledore was clearly a lunatic, sending him and Oliver and whoever else out into the night with those dementors roaming about. Marcus stopped dead in his tracks, suddenly becoming much colder than the night itself.

_The bloody dementors..._

This _had _to be a joke. Despite the hatred Marcus had for the Headmaster, there was no _way _he would be stupid enough to have _innocent _students prance around on the grounds so that the dementors could attack them and feast on their _innocent _souls. This _had _to be Wood. Surely he wrote that letter and acted as if he got one too. Marcus groaned at his own stupidity for believing this _obvious _load of crap, but stopped himself in fear that a dementor might hear him.

"Fuck, fuck, _fuck_," he hissed at himself and looked around frantically, ready to sprint back to Hogwarts and kill Wood. But as he was about to turn and go on with his plan, a voice pierced into the night.

"You! You! Boy! Girl! Vhatever! Come here!"

Marcus moved his head in all directions to find the source of the voice when suddenly he fell onto the ground. He felt a great amount of weight on his chest, and he gasped as he tried to push whate_ver_ was on him off. Thankfully he was very much successful and without any hesitation, he stood and looked down to see that it was a short man, with blonde hair and bright blue eyes, who had tackled him to the ground. No wonder he could not see who was calling for him; the man's height hardly reached up to Marcus's elbow. The only thing that seemed to be quite wondrous was the fact that despite the shortness of this man, he had remarkable strength. How else could he have knocked down a hugely built Quidditch player?

"_You_! Are you coming for the Quidditch Therapy? Vhy are you coming so early? Dumbledore said eight! Not seven! Stupid boy! Come quickly! Ve must go as fast as ve can! And be unhappy. The dementors will find us less quickly if ve are unhappy. BE UNHAPPY!" the man added quickly as he noticed Marcus give him a disbelieving look. "Stupid, ugly boy! Be unhappy! Or ve die!" He grabbed onto the bottom of Marcus's robes and dragged him all the way to the Quidditch Pitch, which at the moment was surrounded by white, _misty _things. The Slytherin could not exactly find a word to explain what was before his eyes, but he watched as the white, _misty _things swirled around the pitch over and over again.

"What are-"

"Patronuses! They are to protect us from the dementors! Come quickly! Ve are almost there!"

Before long both Marcus and the strange man made their way safely into the Quidditch Pitch. In the center of the pitch were six chairs, all placed in a circle. It came as a relief to Marcus once he realized that this whole Quidditch Therapy thing was not a joke after all (he had been too busy to realize that due to the fact that he was being dragged by a very short man). It still was amazingly stupid, but at least it was not a joke the Gryffindors and _Wood_ would laugh about for the rest of the year.

"Stay here. I vill return vith the other five. Stay here! The dementors von't be able to get passed the Patronuses, but if they somehow do... run around and scream like a girl! I vill be able to hear you and come to your rescue! And be unhappy! Never be happy!"

Marcus simply nodded and watched the short man run as fast as he could across the pitch and out of sight. He sighed softly and sat down on one of the chairs, wishing he had graduated from this strange school. Perhaps 'strange' was too kind of a word to describe Hogwarts. Ever since that Potter came here, things got worse after each year. First that _unknown _incident that earned the Gryffindors more house points than they deserved. Then the horrid monster that had attacked the Mudbloods, and finally, Black was on the loose. And with Black on the loose, there were the dementors. Marcus kicked himself mentally for failing all those exams that kept him from graduating. If old age wasn't going to kill him, surely Potter would in some form or another.

"Flint! You obsessive little bloke, you," someone shouted, and Marcus turned his head and looked over his shoulder to see that it was Terrence Higgs, his ex-Seeker. Walking beside him was Adrian Pucey, his Chaser, and they both sat down on either side of their captain (ex-captain in Terrence's case... poor boy).

"Can you believe that Dumbledore? _Quidditch Therapy_? The man must be nuts," said Adrian.

"Not as mad as that horrible man who escorted us," replied Terrence quietly. "You'd suspect he's been drinking with the way he yelled at us. I want what he's having."

Marcus rolled his eyes and sighed heavily, crossing his arms. "Will you two just _shut the bloody hell up_? Higgs, what are you doing here? You don't play Quidditch anymore," he added after a short pause.

"Just because I don't play for your team, doesn't mean I stopped playing Quidditch completely-"

"Which is a shame, really... you should quit seeing as you _are _terrible on a broom," Adrian interrupted with a grin.

"_Anyway_, not that it really matters. I've just been doodling on my assignments and notes... Quidditch plays and broomsticks and Quaffles and-"

"Harry Potter's name."

Terrence yelled out several curses as he reached over to strangle Adrian. However, with a very _annoyed_ Marcus in between them, the two could not satisfy their desire to kill each other as Marcus pushed Terrence back in his seat and yanked on Adrian's precious hair for mentioning Potter's name. "Both of you shut those mouths before I throw you out of the pitch and watch the dementors fucking eat your brains!"

"No throwing bodies around vill be permitted vhile I am in charge! Stupid boy!" a familiar, thick-accented voice hollered not too far from where the three Slytherins sat. Marcus, for the second time that night, groaned and turned around, finding that it was, of course, the short man. But he was not alone, as Marcus had suspected. Following him was Oliver Wood, Cedric Diggory, and to Marcus's delight, Harry Potter.

Marcus released Adrian's hair and relaxed in his chair as the three other Quidditch obsessors sat themselves down. The short man stood in the center and looked at each of the boys before nodding and clapping his hands together.

"Good," he said and began walking around in a circle slowly to prevent any dizziness, "ve shall begin! My name is Iakovlevich Belokhvoshch Zvenigorodskii, but you may call me Zvenidorodskii. You are all here-"

"Your mother must have been depressed when she gave you that name," Marcus blurted out and the other two Slytherins sniggered. "How can you honestly expect us to pronounce even a _syllable _of your name?"

Iakovlevich Belokhvoshch Zvenigorodskii stopped and glared at the Slytherin Quidditch Captain. If looks could kill, Marcus and the whole world would no longer exist.

"My mother vas a good voman! And since you are too stupid to pronounce my name, you vill call me _Master_ because that is vhat I am for the next six veeks!"

"Bugger off. I'd rather choke while attempting to pronounce your stupid name," Marcus mumbled.

"You vill do just that then! Let me see... ." Zvenigorodskii pulled out a piece of parchment and looked at the names listed on it. "Yes... you must be Marcus Flint? Ugly name for an ugly boy." It was the two Gryffindors and the one Hufflepuff's turn to burst out laughing, and despite the Slytherins' efforts to stop them by glaring and scowling, they continued to laugh, if not harder. "That is enough! Let us continue. Now I vill go through attendance. Vill each of you nod as I say your name. Cedric Diggory? Good. Marcus Flint? I vouldn't care. Terrence Higgs? Good. Harry Po-... . Pooter? Harry Pooper?"

"_Potter_," corrected Harry as he blushed.

Zvenigorodskii gasped at the name and looked up to see if it was truly the Boy-Who-Lived sitting across from him. "Potter! Brave little boy! Vhy has that dumb headmaster sent you out here vhen there is a _killer_ sneaking around?"

"As if we really needed a reminder," Terrence muttered and threw a quick and nervous glance over his shoulder. "Zzz... uh... noodershickle... will you please hurry it up so we can go back?"

"I think Higgs is scared of the dark," whispered Cedric to both Harry and Oliver. However, the three Slytherins heard him quite well, and before any of them could verbally abuse their rivals, Zvenigorodskii shouted loud enough to wake the whole world. Well, the side of the world thatwas sleeping of course.

"Enough! Ve need to hurry before the Patronuses die out! Now... . Adrian Pucey? Good. And Oliver Vood? Good." Zvenigorodskii stuffed the list in a random pocket and started to walk around in a circle again. "Dumbledore has hired me to help you six control your Quidditch obsession. Now before I move on, let me say that obsessions are very dangerous! They can turn you into mindless zombies! That is vhere I come in! For six veeks I vill show you others sports! Both Magical and Muggle! You vill learn how to keep your mind off of Quidditch vhen it needs to be! And most importantly, you vill learn German!"

"_German_?" asked a weirded-out Adrian. "Why do we need to learn German?"

"Because it vill expand your knowledge, vhich you seem to lack a lot of! Now shush-"

"But... um... Z... um... hickersnitzle-" Oliver began but was immediately interrupted by the therapist.

"Zvenigorodskii!"

"Zv... ni... google...skini," stampered the Gryffindor once again, "if we're going through Quidditch Therapy why are we in a Quidditch Pitch? It's a bit ironic if you ask me."

"It is not! Vhile you are in a Quidditch Pitch, it is obvious that you vill think of Quidditch. Vhile you are in therapy, you vill learn how to control such thoughts... and vhen you can sit in a Quidditch Pitch and not think of Quidditch, the therapy program vill be a success!" Zvenigorodskii explained excitedly, and as he did so, he threw his arms about with so much enthusiasm that the six boys were simply waiting for him to fall over.

"Well... that's stupid. _Anyone _who walks in here will think of Quidditch," said Terrence indifferently. "Why make us go through this idiotic program thing?"

"Because I am smart, and you are not! Now shush! I vill go over the rules! Rule number eins-"

"Excuse me?" Marcus asked with a raised eyebrow.

"Number one, stupid boy! Learn how to count! Rule number eins," he repeated, glaring at Marcus with dangerous eyes, "you vill be escorted from and to Hogwarts! There are dementors on the grounds, and ve do not vant them sucking avay your useless souls! Rule number zwei: you vill no longer be allowed to speak of Quidditch vhen I am around. Rule number drei: if you do not come to all the therapy meetings, the punishments that have been promised in your letters, vill happily be given! And finally, rule number vier: I vill think of more rules vhen I vant to. Do you all understand? Good. Now ve have a little time left to introduce ourselves."

"We already know each other," said Oliver as he frowned at Marcus.

"I do not care! Rule number funf: listen to my every command or you vill perish! Good. Now Cedric Diggory, vill you please stand up and introduce yourself to us?"

Cedric slowly stood up, nervously looking at the very tiny man in front of him. "Um... well, my name is Cedric Diggory."

"And vhat is your problem, Mr. Diggoy? Vhy are you here?"

"Well... apparently I have a problem with liking Quidditch."

Zvenigorodskii nodded and rubbed his chin in a manly sort of way. "Are you ashamed of this problem?"

"Um... no?"

"Good... sit down. Terrence Higgs, stand up and introduce yourself."

Terrence obeyed and rolled his eyes as he said, "My name is Herrence Tiggs, and my problem is Dumbledore."

"And vhy is he your problem, _Terrence Higgs_?"

"Because he sent me to this stupid thing."

"Sit down. Harry Potter, kindly stand up," said Zvenigorodskii as he turned to face the third year Gryffindor.

Harry stood up and swallowed hard as six pairs of eyes settled on him. "Well... my name is Harry Potter. And... I have a problem with-"

"Bringing bad luck to us all," Marcus snarled. "And I do believe you forgot to call on me, Ziggerneezlehiggen."

Harry slowly sat back down while Zvenigorodskii turned to glare up at Marcus once more. "Very vell. Stand up and introduce yourself."

Marcus sighed and stood up. "My name is Flint, and my only problem is having too many Gryffindors to beat up in the very little time I have." He flashed a nasty grin towards Oliver and sat down. As Zvenigorodskii moved on to Adrian, who appeared to have a lot of problems, such as masturbating while thinking of Quidditch and so on, Marcus kept his eyes on Oliver. He watched his every movement like the shifting of his eyes. They moved from Adrian to Zvenigorodskii to the ground, but they never landed on him. Marcus was not sure if Oliver was aware that he was looking at him, or if he just too frightened to look at the Slytherin. Either way, Marcus didn't mind. It gave him the chance to stare at the boy for just a moment longer.

"Oliver Vood. Stand up, please."

Oliver stood up and finally looked at Marcus, but the expression held within his eyes nearly surprised the Chaser. Hatred. Pure hatred. "I'm Oliver Wood, and I have a problem with Slytherins because they're selfish and rude and _cheaters_," spat the Gryffindor mercilessly. "_And_ they're ugly."

"Someone obviously hasn't been looking in the mirror lately," retorted Marcus as he stood, preparing himself for a fight he knew would happen soon.

"I know _you _haven't, seeing that which ever mirror you looked into surely broke because of your hideousness!"

"Hideousness isn't a word, Wood."

"It _is _a word,but you wouldn't know, would you? There's a reason why you're the _only _student in the history of Hogwarts who's come back for an _eighth _year!"

"You know... you're getting on my bloody nerves," Marcus growled and walked over to Oliver, kicking poor Zvenigorodskii out of the way. "You better hope someone stops me before I strangle you to death."

And before Oliver could do anything to protect himself, they were on the ground with Marcus was on top of him, ramming his fist into his jaw. Harry and Cedric got to their feet instantly to help the defenseless Gryffindor captain, but the moment they made the slightest movement, Terrence and Adrian stood up and got in their way. As for Zvenigorodskii... well, he rolled around on the ground, most certainly unaware of the chaos that broke loose.

"Get the hell off of me!" Oliver yelled as he tried to hit anything his with fist. When he felt Marcus's nose crunch sickly under his curled fingers, he smirked... despite the fact that that smirk was soon squashed into bruised and bleeding mushy lips.

The fight continued between Marcus and Oliver as they exchanged a few punches and what not, and Cedric, Harry, Terrence, and Adrian were quickly involved in a massive altercation of their own. However, all the fighting and shouting and punching had stopped when Marcus heard screaming. He didn't know exactly who was screaming, but it was loud enough to make him look up, away from Oliver. His curious eyes landed on three hooded figures, which were slowly _gliding _their way across the pitch. Marcus instantly felt a stinging pain in his chest, and every happy thought he seemed to have contained in his little brain was being sucked away.

Quidditch.

Chocolate covered strawberries.

Oliver Wood.

"No!" Marcus yelled, but it was hopeless. He fell to the ground, watching helplessly as the hooded figures stood over him. Marcus thought he saw a flash of white light, but it was too late... the screams and darkness had already engulfed him.

**Author's Notes: **Okay, I have a _lot _to say about this chapter. First of all, I almost completely forgot about the dementors and Sirius Black. When I had Marcus walk towards the Quidditch Pitch, I suddenly remembered them, and I just came up with the whole patronus-running-around-the-Quidditch-Pitch-to-protect-them thing. I realize that a Patronus wouldn't last that long... but, well work with me. Zvenigorodskii is a German-speaking Russian. I couldn't find a spot to put that in, so I might have to in later chapters. If not, well, now you know! I wasn't exactly sure how to write down a Russian accent... so I just changed most of the w's into v's cause I know that that's what Germans do... or at least I think they should. Yeah. I'm surprised that I even wrote that much... I was going to stop it at where Oliver storms off, but that was too short. Now I think it's too long. xD Oh well. Hopefully I'll be able to write this much for the other chapters. Anyway! Enough of that, please review! It would mean the _world _to me. And I promise to review your fics in return! Cause I love you all!

Oh, and don't ask me how to pronounce Iakovlevich Belokhvoshch Zvenigorodskii. You might need a Russian expert or something to help you with that... . I nearly had a seizure when I tried to pronounce the name myself.


	2. Gymnastics and Men in Tight Suits

**Author's Notes: **Uh! That took a long time to update. Heh. Anywho, I was busy with Driver's Ed, so hopefully the next chapter won't take as long to update. With that out of the way, I would like to ask you all a favor. In the last chapter it was mentioned that our loverly six boys would be learning about other Magical sports. The only problem is I don't really know of any other Magical sport, and since I'm too lazy to come up with my own, I would like you to make something up for me. Don't worry, credit will be given. Just drop your ideas into the review box.

Oh, and just to warn you all... this chapter will contain unpleasant nakedness... well... sorta.

**Thank You: **

**FrozenFire23: **My first review! Thank you so much. Your kind words mean more to me than you can possibly imagine, and they gave me the boost I needed to start on the second chapter.

**Makai Goddess** **Ookami:** I am so glad you thought it was funny! Thank you very much!

**Travis-J:** Are you kidding me? There are _loads _of Marcus Flint fans! And thank you _so _much for the review!

And I would also like to thank Marcus Flint for being a sexy kickass Slytherin.

**Dedication: **For you, **FrozenFire23**!

**Quidditch Therapy**

**Chapter Two-- **Gymnastics and Men in Tight Suits

**  
**"I'm hungry."

"Eat your toe nails."

"That's gross... ."

"I do it all the time."

"Adrian... you're telling me that I've been kissing a toe nail-invested mouth for the past two months?"

"I brush my teeth. Sometimes."

"I should break up with you because of that."

Marcus groaned softly as the quiet bickering disturbed him from his sleep, rescuing him from a horrible nightmare. A nightmare about a meaningless therapy program for Quidditch obsessors; a demented German-speaking Russian therapist; and terrifying cloaked figures that could make any grown man piss in his pants.

He slowly lifted both heavy eyelids and blinked a few times before the blurry room swirled into focus. It did not take long for Marcus to see that the voices that had awoken him belonged to Terrence and Adrian, who were both sitting on the bed beside his. They were extremely close to each other and were doing something that caused Marcus to blink a few more times to make sure that his eyes were not deceiving him. Terrence slid his fingers down Adrian's chest while Adrian pressed his lips lovingly against Terence's cheek, muttering something that sounded like 'I want to kiss you'. Terrence did not bother to say no or anything at all. He simply tilted his head until their lips met, and a moment later their tongues were in each other's mouths.

"What the fuck are you two doing?" Marcus snarled and sat up gingerly.

Terrence's blue eyes grew wide as he pushed Adrian away and did a little back roll to the other end of the bed. It would have been a spectacular sight had he not fallen off the side and onto the floor with a loud _thunk_. He almost immediately stood up and brushed himself off while his cheeks burned with embarrassment.

"We... were... uh," Terrence stumbled, avoiding his ex captain's eyes. "I was just smelling Pucey's breath... because he asked me to."

More like taste, Marcus thought and rolled his eyes.

"Right. How's my breath?" asked Adrian.

Terrence looked as if he was about to answer with a no, but instead he said, "When was the last time you brushed your teeth, Pucey? Last year?"

Adrian scowled and threw a pillow at the other Slytherin. "You were probably sniffing your own bogey, you wanker."

The two began to argue as always and normally Marcus would have ordered them to shut up, but he was too occupied at the moment. He was staring at the bed Adrian was sitting on. A _white _bed to be amazingly specific. White sheets, white pillows, white, white, _white_. Where was the green? Where was the silver? Then something _finally _(and, well, miraculously) dawned upon Marcus's confused head. They were not in the Slytherin dormitory as he had believed this whole time but in a room that was all too familiar for the Slytherin Captain.

"Why are we in the hospital wing?" Marcus questioned, and Terrence and Adrian stopped bickering and looked at him with raised eyebrows.

"Don't you remember?" asked Terrence. "We were attacked by dementors."

There was an awkward silence, and after what felt like forever, Marcus broke it with a frustrated groan. He dropped back onto the bed and covered his face with his hands.

"You mean that it all wasn't a nightmare? It actually _happened_?" Marcus asked underneath his hands and quickly removed them afterwards to look at the two.

"Unfortunately. After you kicked Zifflewhateverthehellhisnameis and jumped on Wood, those white things around the pitch disappeared. Then the dementors came in, and we... well, we ran off to the other side of the pitch with Diggory and Potter," Adrian explained.

"You _ran away_ and left me to _die_?" Marcus growled as he tried to come up with the most painful way to kill Adrian.

"We were calling for you to follow us," Terrence began quickly, "but you just stood up and yelled at them. You were saying something like 'Don't touch him'."

"Don't touch who?"

Terrence shrugged. "If I were to guess, I'd say you were talking about Wood. He was behind you, and it did look like you were protecting him."

"Is there something you would like to tell us, Flint?" Adrian asked with a grin, but it vanished instantly when he saw Marcus glare at him with furious eyes. At that moment, Marcus decided the best way to kill the boy would be a combination of ripping his limbs off one by one and choking him by shoving his fist down his throat.

"_Anyway_, the dementors started surrounding you, and all of sudden there's Zittymicklefee, pointing his wand at them. He said something, we couldn't hear, and this white thing appeared and rammed into the dementors and they all floated off," said Terrence. "By the time we walked back, you were out-cold."

"And now we're here," finished Adrian. "Even though there's nothing really _wrong_ with us, Pomfrey said that we weren't allowed to leave until tomorrow morning."

"What time is now?" Marcus asked with frustration building up in his voice. There were so many questions that needed to be answered, and it annoyed him. Marcus Flint was _never_ the one to ask questions... well, until now that is.

"Nearly midnight I suppose," Terrence declared. "We've been here since yesterday evening."

"Where are the other three then?"

Adrian took his turn to answer and nodded towards three beds across the room. "They were awake earlier when Zinnyluffergin came in and told us that we would be having another meeting tomorrow. We'll be in the Great Hall from now on.

Marcus looked and saw that Cedric, Oliver, and Harry were sleeping peacefully. He scowled at the oldest Gryffindor and wondered if he should finish what he had started the night before, but sleep was quickly becoming a much more reasonable option.

"Whatever," Marcus said to himself as he pulled the _white_ blanket up to his chin. "I'm going to sleep, and if I wake up to you two shagging each other, don't think that I won't rip your throats out." He gave Terrence and Adrian one final glare and turned his back on them before closing his eyes and falling asleep.

Marcus had his eyes closed for only a second when he opened them to see Oliver sitting on the side of his bed.

"What do you want, Wood?" he growled while rubbing his eyes sleepily.

"I was checking to see if you were dead," said Oliver as he got to his feet.

"Sorry to disappoint you, Wood, but I'm still very much alive."

"How's your nose?" the Gryffindor asked after a short moment of silence.

"What?"

"Your nose... I broke it when we fought. Pomfrey fixed it, but I was just wondering... ."

Marcus narrowed his eyebrows and reached up to touch his nose. It felt perfectly fine... no pain... nothing, so he responded with a slight shrug. "It's all right. What about you?"

Oliver raised _his eyebrows_ in surprise for he had not expected the Slytherin to ask such a question. He looked at him for a second. Then two... then three. And before he knew it, he was sitting on the bed once again, only closer this time. He stared into Marcus's cold eyes and then down at his lips.

"I'm fine," Oliver whispered and leaned forward so that after seven years, he would finally feel Marcus's rough lips against his soft ones.

However, Oliver's lips did not reach their desired destination because Zvenigorodskii chose that exact moment to barge in.

"Everyone! Vake up! Vake up now!" he shouted and clapped his hands together. "Ve have a lot of vork to do!"

Marcus immediately pushed Oliver away, causing him to lamely tumble to the floor. They were _suspiciously _close to each other and Marcus did not exactly want Zvenigorodskii to _suspect_ that there was something between them because... well, there's not.

"What do you mean wake up?" asked Marcus as he glowered at the short man. "It's only midnight."

"Stupid boy! Vhat are you talking about? It is thirty minutes before five! Dumbledore has kindly given us the Great Hall before breakfast. Now get up! All of you!"

For the past ten minutes Zvenigorodskii managed to wake Harry, Cedric, and Terrence up. Adrian, however, was a problem. No matter what Zvenigorodskii or the other five boys did (bashed his head with pillows, soaked him with freezing water, etc.) the Slytherin would just roll over and continue to snore and drool.

"Someone should kiss him," Harry suggested when they were all about to give up.

"Potter, no one is going to kiss Pucey," snapped Marcus as he rolled his eyes in annoyance. He then thought of Terrence and his snogging session with Adrian, and just as he was about to blurt out that Terrence would not mind kissing the sleeping boy, he decided that he did not exactly want people to know that his Slytherin Quidditch team was filled with shirtlifters.

"I vill!" Zvenigorodskii said almost _too_ excitedly and climbed onto the bed. He straddled Adrian's stomach and leaned down, pressing his lips hard against the Slytherin's. The brave stunt did have some effect because before long Adrian began to moan and return the kiss. And suddenly, as if waking from a frightening nightmare, he snapped his eyes open and stared up at the therapist, who had not removed his lips quite yet.

"AHHHHWHATTHEFUCK!" Adrian yelled as he shoved Zvenigorodskii off of him, sending the poor Russian into the air. Harry and Cedric were fortunate enough to be at the right place at the right time and get knocked over by Zvenigorodskii. They did not exactly _catch _him, but they risked their own beautiful bodies to prevent Zvenigorodskii from hitting the _hard_ floor. How thoughtful of them.

"Good job, Potter. Who knew an idea of yours would actually work," Marcus said as he grinned at the expression on Adrian's face. It looked as if he had gulped down a dozen goblets of dead sour lemon juice and got a pretty damn good sniff of squishy dog poop.

"About time!" Zvenigorodskii shouted as he scrambled out of the tiny pile of bodies. "Ve must hurry now! Ve vasted too much time!"

Marcus and the other five boys followed their therapist to the Great Hall, and the moment they entered it, they were surprised to see that all the tables were removed and the floor was covered with blue mats. They walked on them and felt that the mats were quite firm but soft compared to the floor. The boys looked at Zvenigorodskii, who closed and locked the doors, expecting an explanation.

"All right, boys," the little man said as he bounced onto the mats. "Last night vas very unfortunate, and it is promised that it vill never happen again. Dumbledore has told me that he got very upset vith the Ministry for alloving the Dementors to get out of hand like that. However, ve must stay indoors or go out during the day just to be safe! Vith that out of the vay, I vill talk about vhat ve are going to do today! Today you vill be learning about a sport called Gymnastics-"

"Gymnastics? What the hell is that?" Marcus interrupted and crossed his arms.

"If you keep your ugly mouth closed, you might learn something! Now shush!" Zvenigorodskii snapped and raised his wand. The boys immediately backed away but were relieved when the man turned and _accioed _a box from the other side of the Great Hall. It floated over to them and gracefully landed right beside Zvenigorodskii, who nowfaced the boys with a creepy smile that revealed his amazingly straight teeth. This made Marcus incredibly jealous. "Gymnastics is a Muggle sport, and it requires a lot of skills! A lot more skills than Quidditch! Now, before I go any further, you all must put this on!" Zvenigorodskii leaned over, opened the box, and pulled out what looked to be a _tigh_t piece of clothing. "This is a suit thingy that all gymnasts vear! I could not afford men's uniforms with Muggle money, so I got vomen's instead! Since they are no vomen gymnasts vho are as big as you, I charmed them to expand a bit. Vhen you put them on, your suit vill shrink until it fits you perfectly. Ve don't have very much time, so you vill change in here! Everyone go find a spot against the vall and take off all your clothes before putting on the suit! And do not look until I say so!"

Cedric was the first one to go to the box and pick out his suit, which happened to be yellow; Harry and Oliver pulled out red suits; and Marcus, Terrence, and Adrian, who was still completely freaked out about the horrifying incident earlier, picked the last three _green_ suits.

"In case you haven't noticed yet, I changed the suits to your house's colors," Zvenigorodskii announced as the boys had spread out to find a spot against the wall. They all started to change at the man's command, but Marcus did it with so much speed, that anyone watching would have not had the chance to see his delicious butt. It was not like he wanted to hide anything, since he was proudly large in one certain area, but he fancied an opportunityto see everyone else change.

Once he put the hideous suit on, it started to shrink aggressively to the point where Marcus could suffocate and die. However, he did not really bother to notice as he was too busy turning his head to catch a glimpse of some naked bodies. Unfortunately for the Slytherin, his curious eyes landed on something so terrible, so _wrong_, that his eyes were threatening to pop out of their sockets and explode.

Zvenigorodskii was as naked as he was on the day he was born, and his butt was right there for all to see. Marcus quickly faced the wall and gagged, thinking to himself how lucky he was to see _that _side of the therapist and not the other. He nearly died at the thought of seeing Zvenigorodskii's co-

"All right! You all may turn around!" shouted Zvenigorodskii, who seemed to have changed into a gymnast suit as well, saving Marcus from going any further into his disgusting thoughts. "Quickly! Let us begin! Now... many gymnasts train for years and years, but ve only have a few days! Today ve vill go over some of the basics, and tomorrow you vill learn more of the complex thingies! The first thing I vill teach you boys is the cartvheel. Vatch and learn!"

The six boys watched as Zvenigorodskiiran as fast as he short legs could manage across the blue mats, and right in the middle of the Great Hall he raised his arms above his head, leaned sideways, planted his hands on the mat, sailed his legs into the air, and landed his feet safely back on the ground.

Unbelievable, Marcus thought as he gaped at the therapist. He looked around to see the others' reactions, and each one of them, except for Adrian who was absentmindedly picking at his gymnastic suit, appeared to be inspired. If a tiny man could do that extraordinary stunt, _surely_ they could do it too without breaking something important.

"Ugly boy!" Zvenigorodskii shouted. "You do cartvheel now!"

Marcus blinked at him, wondering if the man was stupidly serious, and started to laugh. "Do you honestly expect me to do that? It's just nearly as hard as pronouncing your name, except I might actually break my neck attempting this dumb thing."

"That is what the blue mats are for, boy!" snapped Zvenigorodskii. "Do it now or you may leave and serve all of those detentions!"

Marcus groaned and stepped forward to the center. He glared down at Zvenigorodskii before squatting and performing a rather pathetic front roll.

"There," he said as he stood and brushed himself off.

Zvenigorodskii scowled and shook his head. "Again! And do it right this time!"

"Whatever you want, Zitzerfiggy," growled the Slytherin Captain. He bent over, placed his hands on the mat, and kicked his legs up into the air. As he accomplished the most unathletic movement in the history of the universe, he lost his balance and smashed his head into the ground. The blue mat prevented any damage to what little Marcus had in his head, but it did not stop his suit from ripping embarrassingly, which was caused by the violent spreading of his legs as his body tried desperately to find a way to not hit the floor.

Gravity can be such a bitch.

"Fuck," Marcus muttered as he stood for the second time. He realized that there had been a rippage but was not _precisel_y sure where the rippage was. Fortunately for him, the cool air against his firm buttocks told him exactly where.

"Cute arse," teased Oliver while Harry and Cedric howled with laughter. Marcus glared at them and covered his "cute arse" with his hands as he made his way towards his clothes.

"Fuck," he said again and began putting his robes on. Zvenigorodskii, however, had different plans and repaired Marcus's suit.

"You stay and vait for everyone else to do their cartvheels, clumsy boy!"

And because Marcus did not want to serve over sixty detentions, he sat down as the five other boys reluctantly took turns doing the cartwheels. No one was as terrible as Marcus because no one fell on _their_ heads and ripped _their_ suit thingies. Oliver seemed to have surprised them all by performing a nearly perfect cartwheel. Even Zvenigorodskii was impressed, but who could blame the tiny man? Oliver was so graceful with everything he did that it was mind-boggling that the boy had taken up such an aggressive sport.

Delicate hands.

Slender body.

Angelic face.

All those features were not meant for Quidditch, but somehow Oliver managed to make it work. He managed to use those delicate hands to block the Quaffle almost all the time. He managed to use that slender body to protect the three goal hoops with ease. And he most certainly managed to use that angelic face of his to distract Marcus.

Marcus watched as Oliver was asked to do yet another cartwheel and smirked when the boy did so because this allowed the Slytherin to look at him move in ways that could be oh so useful in... well, bed.

He immediately decided that gymnastics was not so bad after all.

**Author's Notes:** I'll admit... not too happy with this chapter. ;-; :sob: It did what I wanted it to do, but... oh well. I hope you enjoyed it more than I did. Again, I need some creative minds to make up some special Magical sports! If you can do that for me _and_ review, I will love you forever.

And just so you all know, I've been having evil problems with words squishing together. I tried to go back and unsquish them, but either I couldn't find them all or they squished themselves back together. Sooo... if you see them... kind of ignore their squishyness.


	3. Sorry

Dear Readers,

I am really sorry to say this, but I must stop writing Quidditch Therapy. Well, that's not entirely true. I'll stop posting chapters because right now I am way too busy with school and volleyball. I'm taking all advanced classes and two foreign language classes with no study hall... and on top of that I have three hour practices all week. By the time I get home, I'm too exhausted to do my homework, let alone type fanfictions. Do not worry though... if I ever have time to type chapters up, I will. However, as I said before, I'm done for now with posting. When volleyball season is over (around November or so), I will put Quidditch Therapy up again.

Thank you so much for those who have read and reviewed it. You have no idea how much it means to me, and I feel like I'm disappointing you. But school always comes first. When the fic returns, I promise to have a whole lot more and maybe even longer chapters for you! Again, thanks... oh and if anymore magical sport ideas come up, pleeeeeease e-mail me!

Bye for now,

PadfootsMoony


End file.
